Chapter 10 Lottie
Lottie
I watch Professor Hale walk out of the café, the bell over the door chiming softly as it closes behind him. And just like that, the warm, intoxicating scent that had wrapped around me vanishes.
The air feels wrong without it. Colder. Thinner. Like someone opened a window in the middle of winter and let all the heat escape.
I tell myself that’s good.
Distance is good. Space is necessary.
I should be grateful he’s the one who left first. But the moment he’s gone, something inside me aches. A quiet, hollow pull beneath my ribs.
And that’s exactly the problem.
I force myself to turn back to my food, inhaling slowly, counting the breath as it moves in and out of my lungs. My heart is still racing as if I’ve sprinted across campus. I was in his presence for maybe ten minutes.
Ten minutes. And my pulse hasn’t recovered. My hands are trembling just enough that I have to press them flat against the table to steady them. My thoughts are scattered, tangled, impossible to line up in a straight, logical row.
This is only the beginning.
If I don’t get a handle on this now, I’m going to lose everything I’ve worked for.
I groan under my breath and rub my forehead.
I need a plan. Something structured. Rational. Grounded. Because if I lose control, I lose my TA position. And I need that position. It’s not optional. It’s tuition. Its recommendations. It’s my future.
But every time I try to think logically, my mind drifts back to him. To the way his scent wrapped around me like warm air on a freezing day — steady, grounding, almost protective. To the way his eyes softened when he smiled. To the way something inside me responded before I could stop it.
This isn’t just attraction. I’ve had crushes before. Slow-burn, harmless, manageable things that faded with time or distraction.
This feels different. Bigger. Like my whole body is leaning toward him. Like something instinctive has locked onto him and refuses to let go.
It feels like I want to climb into the space against his chest and stay there. Like I want to hold him so close that the rest of the world blurs out of existence.
My breath stutters.
I shake my head sharply.
No.
No, no, no.
This can’t happen. It can’t.
I tilt my head slightly as another thought creeps in: At least it shouldn’t.
And that tiny hesitation — that crack in my certainty — is worse than anything else.
“What is wrong with me?” I mutter.
I pick up my sandwich and take a bite, chewing slowly, focusing on texture. Bread. Lettuce. Salt. Something normal. Something mundane.
But even as I swallow, the question keeps circling.
Why don’t my suppressants work around him?
They’ve always worked. Always. I’ve never had an issue before. Not once. I’ve been steady. In control. Predictable. But the moment he’s near, it’s like they dissolve into nothing. Like my body overrides them entirely. Like instinct shoves discipline aside without asking permission.
I draw in another breath.
His scent is gone from the air. But it’s still vivid in my memory. Warm. Sweet. Steady.
And I’m left sitting here, staring at my half-eaten sandwich, wondering how I’m supposed to survive the next four months when ten minutes nearly unraveled me.
I finish my food slowly, barely tasting it. My mind keeps replaying everything — the way his voice dipped lower when he said my name, the tension in his shoulders, the way he cleared his throat like he was fighting for composure.
Two days. I’ve known him for two days. And he’s already taking up more mental space than anything else in my life.
What a sap.
I’ve never felt anything this strong, this fast. It’s like being dropped into deep water without knowing how to swim. I don’t have a roadmap for this.
It’s unsettling, and, if I’m honest, a little terrifying.
I gather my things and pull on my coat, bracing myself. Winter and I have never gotten along. Fall? I thrive. Spring? I bloom. Winter feels like punishment.
The cold shrivels me, seeps into my bones, makes everything feel harsher than it needs to be.
Once I’m bundled up, I step outside. The air hits me like a slap — sharp, bracing, real. It clears my head just enough for a plan to begin forming.
Avoid him. Not entirely — that’s impossible. We have to work together. But avoid anything that isn’t strictly necessary. No lingering conversations. No “quick questions” that stretch into half an hour. No closed-door meetings.
If we have to talk, it’s in public. Open spaces.
Professional tone. Professional posture. Professional distance. Professional.
It’s the only thing that will save me.
And I’m sure Professor Hale would agree.
As I cross the quad, I pull out my phone and text Sandy.
Hey, when are you finished with class today?
Our schedules overlap strangely — shared classes on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Opposite days off otherwise. It makes spontaneous plans harder than they should be.
A few minutes later, my phone chimes.
Sandy: Hey! My last class finishes at three, wanna hang out after?
I smile faintly and type back: Sure, I’ll be at the cafeteria. Come over when you get out.
She sends a thumbs-up and a smiley face.
I smile too — then open my thread with Charlie. He refuses to text first on principle. Some weird sibling pride thing.
Hey, what are you up to? Wanna grab lunch on Saturday (trying to ask early enough to squeeze some of your time out of you).
His response comes quickly: Hey, sis! No class today, so I’m hanging with Jordan. Sure, lunch on Saturday works. I’ll pencil you in, lol.
I snort as I reply: Haha, you’d better not forget! I barely like you, but I still wanna see your face sometimes.
He sends a laughing emoji and a kissy face. Typical.
The normalcy helps. It pulls me back into myself a little.
I check the time. Two o’clock.
An hour to kill. The library should help.
I find a cozy corner with a stuffed armchair and a small table. After dropping my things, I wander the shelves, running my fingers along spines without really looking.
Somehow — of course — I end up in the pheromone and biology section.
A title catches my eye:
Pheromones: What to Know.
I stare at it for a long moment.
Of course.
I pull it free and carry it back to my chair.
Once I start reading, I fall into it completely. Case studies. Biological responses.
My stomach flips.
I don’t notice the time passing until my phone rings.
Sandy.
I blink and answer. “Hey, you finished with class?”
“Yeah, I’m at the cafeteria. Where are you?”
I glance at the time. Three fifteen.
Shit.
“I’m at the library. Hold on, I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Alright, hurry up. I’m hungry.”
“Yeah, yeah. You can get something if you don’t want to wait. I’ll be there in like five minutes.”
She sighs dramatically. “I’ll wait. It just better be five minutes.”
I laugh. “Okay, baby.”
There’s a sharp inhale on the other end.
My stomach drops.
“I—uh—I meant baby like toddler, since you’re whining. Oh, whatever, see you in five!”
I hang up quickly, heat crawling up my neck. Moments like this make me wonder. I don’t want to assume she has feelings for me. I don’t want to hurt her. And if I’m being selfish, I don’t want her to say anything out loud — because then I’d have to respond honestly.
And right now?
I don’t know what my honesty even looks like.
I hurry to the cafeteria. Sandy’s in our usual corner, waving when she spots me.
I peel off my coat, hat, and scarf before sitting across from her.
“Hey, how was class?”
She shrugs. “It was class. You know how it is.”
“Yeah,” I smile. “They’re all the same if you’re not into the subject.”
She gives me a small, quiet smile. “Okay, can we eat now?”
I laugh and stand. “Sure, let’s feed the hungry tiger.”
We fall into easy chatter in the line.
“It’s so cold!” she complains. “Winter is really here, and that bitch gives no fucks about freezing your tits off!”
I burst out laughing. “Oh my god, yes! It’s like winter didn’t even knock — she just kicked the door in.”
We get our food and head back.
“I’m so excited to be a TA,” I say as I sit. “It’s been almost impossible to contain myself. I want to do a happy dance every time I think about it.”
Sandy grins. “I would if I were you. If anyone deserves it, it’s definitely you.”
Warmth blooms in my chest. Being with her helps. It really does.
For a little while, I forget. But the second I realize that, everything crashes back in.
Professor Hale.
His scent.
His eyes.
The way my body reacted without my permission.
Shit.
I stare down at my food, my appetite fading.
I have four months of this. Four months of proximity. Four months of pretending my biology isn’t trying to rewrite my priorities.
I swallow hard.
I am so, so fucked.